


so may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten

by blumen



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bathing/Washing, Canon Compliant, Comfort, Coping, Crying, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hair Washing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Married Couple, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Oneshot, Pet Names, Post-Canon, Sad with a Happy Ending, Violent Thoughts, essentially Viktor looks after a v sad Yuuri, very very slight tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 20:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11631207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blumen/pseuds/blumen
Summary: Viktor's foot nudged Yuuri's ankle and it was one of Viktor's more timid smiles but still radiant nonetheless. Resting his head in the warm crook of his husband's neck, with the mild beating of a pulse tapping against his forehead, Yuuri accepted the upturned palm into his own hand and traced their matching rings. Perhaps he didn't feel okay, but that in itself was okay.





	so may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> the tradition of overly long pretentious titles that are uncapitalized has finally caught up to me I surrender. One day I will be able to come up with titles that aren't just song lyrics that I think that would be asking to much of myself

“Yuuri?” Viktor prompted, curling a hand through the greasy hair peaking through the nest of blankets. His face was immersed in a pillow that probably needed washing after three days of Yuuri hogging it. “Are you awake?”

Yuuri wiggled his head slightly in response but still left his face buried in the pillow like it was his own personal grave. Viktor carded his hand through Yuuri's hair in circles, rubbing through the sheets up and down with his other hand on what he assumed to be Yuuri's curled back.

“Come on, dear, you should shower,” Viktor said. Yuuri felt the mattress dip beneath him as Viktor sat beside his figure, crumpled up as if he were a discarded piece of paper. He could begin to smell Yuuri, even through the four layers of blankets. Viktor bit his lip when he was met with silence, the only sound being the mix of their breathing and the rain pattering softly against the window. “Yuuri,” he tried again, sighing. He turned his line of sight towards the floor and caught the sight of his ring, still vibrant even in the bleak lighting of the room. _For better or for worse_ after all. “Love, I'm going to take the covers off.”

Yuuri groaned in response but was almost thankful. The bed had stopped providing comfort; the shield of blankets felt more like weights than anything. He avoided Viktor's gaze as he gently coaxed him to sit up straight, knowing that if he saw the sympathy and love there he'd start crying again. He rearranged Yuuri's limp limbs to hang around Viktor's shoulder for support. Viktor didn't have to stay; there was nothing forcing him to look after him like this. It was hard to handle sometimes, knowing that Viktor was doing this for him, knowing that he was loved with such an intensity.

Yuuri's legs were unused to movement as they staggered towards the bathroom together, a feeling akin to pins and needles thrumming through his heavy calves. The scent of Viktor's cologne and their laundry detergent was grounding as he nestled into Viktor's shoulders. But still a heaviness that had persisted for the past week compressed his body. He felt rather than saw himself sat down on the toilet, distantly shivering at the soft hands pulling off his sweater and jogging bottoms. With a stab of resentment, Yuuri realised he was no better than a child but was too exhausted to follow that train of self-hatred. His head was guided beneath the nozzle, closing his eyes as the warm temperature cascaded down his aching body. The sharp smell of Viktor's shampoo, a concoction of prosecco, musk, and something else equally ridiculous and pretentious, filled the large space of their shower. Yuuri focused on the sensations around him, muted, but feeling nevertheless. His hair flattened to his forehead beneath the stream and he pushed it aside to wipe away the oil that had birthed a new crop of spots across his forehead and in the crevices of his nostrils. Viktor's hands massaged his scalp and he almost burst into tears at the easing touch, biting his lip to contain a sob. He placed a hand over Yuuri's eyes as he lathered shampoo into his hair, curling his fingers around the strands whilst spreading it evenly across his scalp.

Once Viktor had washed his body and conditioned his hair, he turned off the shower head and wrapped Yuuri in a towel. Viktor quickly donned a matching towel, skipping his usual extensive post-shower routine. Once Yuuri had brushed his teeth to rid himself of the dry acrid taste in his mouth he didn't feel significantly better but he was clean and that was something.

Feeling slightly more awake, Yuuri managed to walk back to the bedroom himself that time but allowed Viktor to dress him in a large jumper that he suspected wasn't his own and leggings. It was only a step above pajamas but whatever. Viktor was trying so, so hard and yet Yuuri still couldn't. Just couldn't find the will to get dressed himself, or make dinner, or even crawl back to bed.

“I'm sorry,” Yuuri murmured, burrowing his hands into the loose sleeves, wishing he could fit his entire body in there.

“What was that, dear?” Viktor said whilst rummaging through their drawers for the hair-dryer.

Yuuri shook his head. If he opened his mouth now his voice would betray him.

“Yuuri, you're allowed to cry,” Viktor's voice fanned across Yuuri's cheeks like a summer's breeze. Yuuri shielded his face with his hands, pulling up his knees to his chest. “ _Yuuri_ -”

Great, now he was crying. Yes, he was allowed to but it was all he had done that week and he was so done with just crying and crying. He knew this spell would end, it always did, but he wanted it over now. He didn't want to put Viktor, or himself, through this anymore.

“That's good, Yuuri, cry it out,” Viktor hushed but Yuuri only shook his head more. He hated this he hated this he hated this- “It's going to be okay; this will pass.”

 _I know!_ Yuuri wanted to shout because he knew this was just his head and that he would be okay but he wasn't in that moment and _that_ was the issue. He was so sick of this constant ache and exhaustion and the feeling of just wanting everything to stop. Eventually, he managed to quell his tears to only an occasional heave of his chest.

“Let's dry your hair,” Viktor said, leading Yuuri towards the chair by the mirror where he caught sight of how dreary he looked. His pores did not appreciate his little meltdown, with his skin reaching puberty levels of acne, not to mention that the colour now resembled dirty dishwater. Yuuri felt his forehead being tipped back and twitched when he felt Viktor press his lips against it. “I love you, Yuuri.”

“Viktor...” he croaked croaked, grasping his husband's hands with a force that could snap bone, hoping that even if his words couldn't convey the sentiment that his actions could.

“It's okay,” he reassured once more before turning on the hair-dryer. The volume was abrasive as well as annoying but Yuuri sat through it, willing himself not to burst into tears of frustration because of a _sound_ of all things.

He focused on the sensation of fingers tiptoeing along the short hairs at the base of his neck. Yuuri tilted his head back into the touch and dug his toes into the fuzzy socks Viktor given him. He almost cracked a smile at the offensive pink colour; the weight in his chest felt lighter, if only marginally. His eyes scanned the surface of their dresser from the beaming photos of their skating family after competitions to the babushka dolls shaped uncannily like Makkachin they'd received from his mother at Christmas to Viktor's scattered make-up because contrary to what the posters advertised, he was still a simple mortal and had pores like everyone else. Through the mirror's reflection, their shared shelf of trophies, certificates, and medals stood tall with the shelf below showcasing their wedding photos with equal pride. Their wedding had been an occasion so magical that it may as well have come straight out of a movie. His mind unhelpfully injected that he would never feel that happy again, which, okay, was an tempting thought to entertain, and whilst Yuuri did love self-loathing, it simply wasn't true.

“All done,” Viktor hummed, shutting off the dryer before pecking the crown of Yuuri's head.

“Thank you,” Yuuri murmured.

“I'm going to make some food, do you want to join me?” Viktor suggested. Yuuri numbly nodded. What else was he going to do? Staring at the wall for hours was entertaining but also had the side effects of being completely soul rendering. They padded down the stairs and were greeted by a bouncing Makkachin. He plodded over to lick Yuuri's feet that were dangling from where he situated himself on the counter. A slight smile teased the corners of his lips as he leaned forward to scratch Makkachin's ears. Unfortunately, he couldn't lift Makkachin to sit on the counter with him but even so his presence was still appreciated.

Yuuri dangled his legs whilst Viktor collected ingredients from their cupboards and laid them on the chopping board. He began slicing ingredients for what appeared to be a stew and Yuuri watched in a calm silence. _You know you could just take that knife and-_ Yuuri rolled his eyes, _Or we could not do that, Brenda._ He tried to halt a sigh but stopped himself and released it instead. Viktor's gaze switched over to him quickly and his eyebrows creased in what was Yuuri's least favourite expression.

“I...I know it doesn't fix anything but I love you, Yuuri,” Viktor said, hand reaching out to trace Yuuri's knuckles with a pressure so light he almost didn't feel it. Yuuri gazed at him and squeezed his hand, not quite in a state to accept Viktor's affirmation but knowing deep down it was true.

He hopped down from the counter to walk towards the door leading to the outdoor garden and opened it, sheltered by the warmth of their kitchen but still felt the sobering breeze outside. A few stray drops of rain caught his skin but it wasn't an issue. Leaning against the frame and shutting his eyes, Yuuri concentrated on the feeling of the wind encasing him like a blanket. He hadn't been outside in days and the feeling was more than welcome. Distantly, he could hear the flames of the stove murmur and the soft _plop_ of the vegetables sinking into broth. But like this he could just feel the iciness of the air soothe the edges of his numbness. Eventually, Viktor joined him, wrapping his arms low around Yuuri's waist and rested his head on his shoulder to press chaste kisses to his neck that felt like promises. Viktor's breathing felt like the movement of a calm ocean, soothing in its slow rhythm. He pulled away, only to quickly return with an icy glass of water. Yuuri sipped at it slowly and then began gulping, suddenly aware of how thirsty he was. It helped ebb the pounding in his head, if only slightly.

“Can you get the bowls out of the cupboard, love?” Viktor asked whilst stirring the stew that emanated a warm scent that reminded Yuuri of last December. Viktor had curled against him on their couch like a newly-born kitten as snow softly plodded onto their window, shielding them away from the outside world, the finished bowls of piping-hot soup discarded on the coffee table. Yuuri complied to Viktor's request and remembered how safe he had felt in that moment. But now it all felt fake. However, as his therapist had told him before, life was about the balance of the good and the bad. The good times of dazed smiles and honey-sweetness seeping in his chest would return, as would the days where he felt caged to his room, and both were okay.

The soup was soon ready and they ate perched on the counter despite the table being only a few inches away. Either way, the table was hardly used at this point, with most of its space being occupied by official reports and articles with the two of them preferring to eat by the television. Viktor's foot nudged Yuuri's ankle and it was one of Viktor's more timid smiles but still radiant nonetheless. Resting his head in the warm crook of his husband's neck, with the mild beating of a pulse tapping against his forehead, Yuuri accepted the upturned palm into his own hand and traced their matching rings. Perhaps he didn't feel okay, but that in itself was okay.

Once they finished eating and loaded their dishes into the washer, Viktor found the thickest and fuzziest blanket they had to wrap around themselves on the couch where Viktor read. Yuuri was content to lean against Viktor. He'd offered to read for him and Yuuri nodded, concentrating more of the feel of Viktor's Adam's apple bobbing with each word rather than the story itself until he eventually eased into sleep, arms open towards the next day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a hurt/comfort fic in so long??? me????? how?????? Anyway, thank you for reading and may your depressive spells be short


End file.
